That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, <br />And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; <br />That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, <br />A loss in love that touches me more nearly. <br />Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye: <br />Thou dost love her because thou know'st I love her, <br />And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, <br />Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her. <br />If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, <br />And, losing her, my friend hath found that loss; <br />Both find each other, and I lose both twain, <br />And both for my sake lay on me this cross. <br /> But here's the joy: my friend and I are one, <br /> Sweet flattery! Then she loves but me alone.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-42-that-thou-hast-her-it-is-not-all-my-gr/
